


Acts of Caring

by Diary



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Angst and Feels, Family, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, Gen, Late Night Conversations, POV Walter White, Teenage Jesse Pinkman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26675062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: AU. One night, finding student Jesse has broken into his classroom, Walt and Jesse talk. Complete.
Relationships: Jesse Pinkman & Walter White
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	Acts of Caring

I shouldn’t feel this tired, Walt thinks.

But he does. Someone is trying to steal from the chemistry lab, and instead of anger or exasperation or fear, he simply feels tired.

Clearing his throat, he says, “I’m calling the police.”

“Shit!” There’s clattering, and a person falls backwards onto the floor.

Turing on the lights, he looks down, and some exasperation filled with a vague sense of sadness does come.

He’s seen Jesse Pinkman running around the halls with a buzz-cut, but until now, he hadn’t thought much about it. One of the newer teachers who’s been unlucky enough to be saddled with the little twerp was fussing in the teacher’s lounge about how she doesn’t want any neo-Nazis in her class, and though he certainly doesn’t want any in his, either, he highly doubts Pinkman would ever get involved with anything relating to white supremacy.

Whether he’s right about this or wrong, however, Pinkman has clearly stepped up from being the class-clown slacker who is likely a pothead to actively, if ineptly, trying to commit crimes.

“Or I could simply call your parents,” he adds.

“Whatever, Mr White.” Wincing as he sits up, Pinkman mutters, “Ow, ow, ow.”

“You couldn’t have fallen that hard.”

“You’re not in my body, yo,” is the snappish reply, and looking painfully red, Pinkman glares up at him.

He never thought he’d see the day Pinkman was embarrassed about anything, but he supposes it might be a sign of hope that Pinkman is about this situation. Pinkman certainly isn’t the type who’d be ashamed of trying to steal from a high school chemistry lab, but the least the boy could do is recognise how pathetic the whole thing is.

“Do you want me to help you up?”

In response, Jesse tries to get up himself.

And promptly ends up right back on his back.

“For the record, yo, I have a sprained ankle. I fell off a ladder a few days ago. Putting up Christmas lights.”

“Well, that explains the repeated falling. Now, care to explain why you were trying to break into my cabinets in the first place?”

“No,” is the defiant reply.

“Okay, then. Police or your parents?”

Sighing, Jesse covers his eyes. “It’d be really great if you’d call my parents instead of the police, y- Mr White.”

“Do you want me to help you up or would you rather lay there while I do?”

The uncovered eyes are mutinous, but easing himself up, Jesse grudgingly holds up a hand.

Grabbing his arm, he pulls him up, and he sees the flicker in Jesse’s eyes. Deciding whether to try running or not.

He doesn’t know whether Jesse’s decision to let himself be led to a chair comes from the realisation running would ultimately be pointless or the simple fact Jesse’s in too much pain to try.

As much as he hopes it’s the former, he knows it’s likely the latter.

“No crutches?”

“It wasn’t a bad sprain. ‘til tonight. The nurse gave me a note excusing me from PE for the week, and I’ve just been careful about not putting too much weight on it.”

He suddenly remembers: Jesse’s been living with an aunt for sometime.

“I’m calling your aunt. I’d advise-”

“What? No! Yo, Mr White,” Jesse grabs him. “No. You said my parents or the police. Please, just don’t call her. One of them. Like, it doesn’t matter, just, please-”

He hates dealing with panicking students.

“Jesse,” he manages to get his arm free, “your aunt’s number is likely the one on file.”

“Yo, I’ll give you my parents’. It’s-”

“Sit down, Jesse,” he orders.

Surprisingly, Jesse does.

“Take a deep breath.”

Complying, Jesse quietly says, “My aunt’s been sick lately, Mr White. I know I screwed up, but it’s late, yo. She’d insist on getting out, driving. Be really upset. At least, if my parents told her, they’d be able to make it- like, be really gentle, right?”

He never thought he’d miss punk Pinkman, but at this moment, he’d take that kid to this. Jesse’s tone is soft, serious, and it’s clear he, if isn’t exactly remorseful for his actions, does care about the negative impact his beloved aunt is going to have to deal with due to them.

“Stay.”

Going over to the cabinets, he digs the flash-light out from underneath a nearby table. Turning back, he asks, “How were you planning to get into the cabinets?”

He’s not sure what the look in Jesse’s eyes is, but since it’s not more panic nor infuriating defiance, he’s not overly-concerned.

“Uh, there’s a bobby pin somewhere. And, um, an old credit card of my mom’s. Yo, Mr White, I swear, it’s outdated, totally useless. I just brought it so in case I, like, needed to get through a regular door. I mean, I’m not sure it’d even work, but the point is, I wasn’t planning to buy anything with it.”

“How did you get into the school at this late hour? My classroom?”

“You fix Mrs Nelson’s tea every day at two. I came in, unlocked the windows. I didn’t think anyone would say anything, but you know, if they did, that would’ve, what, at most gotten me a week of detention? Maybe a few days of ISS?”

“That’s- clever.”

At Jesse’s look, he feels the need to say, “No, I’m serious. For all I don’t approve of your breaking-and-entering, your plan for how to do it was reasonably thought out. It might have worked if I hadn’t come back tonight.”

“Thanks,” is the soft reply.

It takes some crawling around, but he finds the bobby bin and credit card. Sure enough, the latter has long since expired. He’s not sure why Mrs Pinkman hasn’t already shredded or otherwise disposed of it, but he’s more surprised at how honest Jesse is seemingly being about everything.

“Are you going to tell me what- why you were trying to get into the cabinets?”

Jesse shakes his head, but he’s more focused on the fact Jesse’s slipped a shoe off.

“Want me to take a look at your ankle? See how much damage you’ve caused?”

At Jesse’s shrug, he takes a seat, and when he pats his own leg, Jesse slowly raises his leg until his foot is resting on it.

Feeling a bit of sympathy at the discomfort radiating from Jesse, he tries to be quick while still being gentle.

“You’ll need another nurse’s note for next week. If you’re careful, though, it should still be able to heal on its own. Want to put your foot down, or do you want me to?”

“Could you please do it?”

He does.

“Thanks. Again.”

“I can’t give you any medicine, but do you want me to fix an ice-pack for you?”

“Nah. Look, just go ahead and call. Please, not Aunt Gin, though.”

“Tell me, when your parents or the police come, what are you going to tell them?”

“Guess we’ll find out.” Jesse gives him a crooked grin, but he can see there’s far less bravado than the boy’s trying to project.

Truth be told, for all he was glad when he no longer had to deal with Pinkman in his class, he finds he doesn’t want to call now. There’s a niggling feeling this isn’t typical of the kid, that something deeper is going on.

Still, even if there is, not calling isn’t an option.

Trying not to sigh, he heads to his phone when he suddenly sees Jesse’s backpack with an unfamiliar book lying next to it on his desk, and he thinks he hears Jesse shifting behind him.

It’s a book about cancer, and opening to where it’s bookmarked, he sees the bookmark is a list of- “You wouldn’t be trying to make anti-nausea supplements, would you, Mister Pinkman?”

“What?” Jesse looks at him with wide eyes. “No. I have no idea what that even means.”

“This isn’t your book?”

“Never seen it before in my life, yo.”

“Jesse.” He takes a deep breath. “You’ve been in my class before. You were one of my students. Now, granted, you rarely turned in any homework, but I did grade enough papers of yours that I can recognise your handwriting.”

In addition, though he might not automatically attribute the drawings on the bookmark to Jesse, they’re good enough that he wouldn’t doubt it if someone showed them to him and said Jesse did them.

“You don’t know that. Like, for sure. I’m pretty sure there was a real show, not a Law & Order fiction show, that said handwriting can be similar and forged and other shit like that.”

“Language,” he automatically says. “But alright, yes, I could be wrong about the handwriting. I have to wonder, however, why, never mind how, a person with handwriting very similar to yours left a book you’ve never seen before on my desk with a bookmark that reads: Lock Mr. W’s windows.”

Groaning, Jesse rubs his head.

Coming back over, he sits down. “I’m fairly sure either your parents or aunt would have informed the principal, who would have informed the other teachers and me, if you had cancer. Does someone close to you?”

He suddenly remembers seeing Jesse and his aunt around town a few times. She’s been wearing decorative headscarves. He hadn’t thought much about it, but looking at Jesse’s head- “Does your aunt?”

Jesse practically shrinks into himself.

“Jesse?”

“Look, if she does, did, she doesn’t want anyone to know.”

“Listen to me, Jesse.”

Jesse looks over.

“I care if you lie to me. This is about you more than anything. Your aunt isn’t the one I caught trying to break into my cabinets. If she’s sick, that’s- The only reason I’d feel the need to bring that up to anyone is if she’s the one who sent you to do this.”

In truth, he doesn’t need Jesse’s scathingly offended look to quell any doubts. He’s sure Jesse’s aunt does love her nephew, but no adult with average intelligence and a lack of severe insanity would entrust Jesse Pinkman to steal lab equipment from a public high school.

“No, she didn’t. She wouldn’t, yo. I just wanted to- the anti-nausea medicine at the store is so expensive, man, and the piece of shit insurance company, yeah, language, but that’s what they _are_ , will only cover a certain brand that she absolutely hates, and I can barely get her to eat anymore. And by the way, Mr White, it’s creepy that you- I mean, yeah, you caught me trying to break into the cabinets, but how’d you figure out what I was after?”

He doesn’t know how to react. Irritation and incredulity war inside.

“I’m a scientist. Do you think I don’t know what’s in most anti-nausea formulas?”

Based on Jesse’s expression, Jesse had never considered this.

“No? Maybe? Are you? Yeah, you teach science, but that makes you a legit scientist, yo?”

Whoever came up with the platitude of _there are no stupid questions_ either never taught adolescents or had the most sarcastic sense of humour in history.

He doesn’t manage to keep his sigh in. “Tell me about your aunt.”

Jesse does, and he feels his heart sinking. Ms Pinkman will die soon; realistically, a year is optimistic.

Worse, Jesse knows this on some level.

Life some times is simply tragically unfair, and getting Jesse a glass of water feels terribly inadequate.

However, despite the few tears Jesse couldn’t stop, Jesse looks at him calmly.

Brave boy, he thinks.

He hopes in a way that hurts his own never has to be this sort of brave.

“Okay. I’m not trying to insult you. I just, help me walk through this, Jesse. Your aunt needs anti-nausea medicine, and you decided to steal lab equipment from a high school lab in order to make it yourself. First, I don’t have anything on your list in my cabinets. But let’s suppose for a moment I did. What was your plan beyond stealing them?”

“Make the supplements or whatever. Adults say you can’t, but legit, Mr White, you can find anything, absolutely anything, man, on the internet if you look right. And I did.”

Oh, dear God, is his thought.

He doesn’t believe Jesse would intentionally make a bomb or a biological weapon of mass destruction. This is not in Jesse’s character.

However, what he knows about the internet is: Thousands, if not millions, can gain access to post on it, and if something looks official, someone like Jesse won’t take the steps to determine if it’s factual and completely accurate. The fact Jesse has gathered the correct information on the compounds and equipment needed to make an anti-nausea supplement is little in the way of reassuring.

“Assuming you managed to make what you intended correctly, then what? What story were you going to tell your aunt?”

“I wasn’t, yo. I was gonna figure out which food or drink-”

“Jesse, don’t tell me you were going to drug your aunt. Despite the illegality-”

He finds himself taken aback by the fierce glare this produces.

“Hey, for the record, whatever you think of me, Mr White, I’d never slip a girl something so that I could take advantage of her. That’s wrong, and that’s illegal, yeah, and it totally should be. This medicine wouldn’t make Aunt Gin unconscious or dopey. And it can’t be illegal. She’s the one who got my mom to hide medicine in my sandwiches when I was little and had this bad case of the flu, because, I couldn’t swallow one kind, and the other was chewable but tasted so awful I’d hide under the bed to avoid it. And uh, actually, that medicine did make me sleepy. But I get why they did it.”

You were a child, he thinks. You still are. Some of what parents and loved ones do to help children isn’t something that-

But then, he’s dealt with adults who have refused to take necessary medicine, and he’d be lying if there weren’t a few times he wasn’t severely tempted to try this approach. Thankfully, the few times Junior’s been sick, he was always okay with the taste of whatever medicine was needed when he was a toddler, and he took to swallowing medicine before he was even five.

“Have you tried other options? Teas, soda, certain foods?”

“I can get her to drink ginger tea sometimes, and that helps some. Not for very long, though. Makes her have to pee pretty fast. She likes the smell of peppermint but not the taste, so, we’ve tried that. It helps some, too, but not much. And with food, like I said, Mr W, I’m having trouble getting her to eat anything. If her stomach’s calm, she’ll try, but if it isn’t, well, she hasn’t hidden under her bed, but yeah.”

He can't believe he's about to bring this up. It's approaching dangerous territory, but he does believe marijuana for medical use is something that more states should expand. “And what about- without accusing you of anything, I know that marijuana isn't something you-”

Giving him a surprised, amused look, Jesse shakes his head. “My aunt's weird. If someone got dope for her, it'd just make her really paranoid, yo. I mean, she wasn't throwing up, but it's kind of hard to get someone to eat when you have to hide all the knives. I almost had to call my parents, but then, after she took a long nap, she was fine." Sighing, Jesse leans back. “That's not something they put in all those stupid D.A.R.E videos.”

“What about soda? Many soft drinks-”

He’s not sure what to make of this look Jesse shoots him.

“After all the lectures you and every other teacher has given about how majorly unhealthy sodas are, you, a guy with PHDs who can creepily tell what a- you’re suggesting I let my dying aunt have something that will kill her faster? Yo, really, Mr White?”

Being sure to keep his voice calm, he says, “No. Jesse, I’d never advise anyone to do anything to speed up another person’s death.”

“Let me tell you a story. When my wife was pregnant, at the beginning of the second trimester, she was very nauseous. It was hard for her to even get up some mornings without the room spinning. But what really worried us was the fact she couldn’t bring herself to eat almost anything. Then, one day, my brother-in-law brought over a large order of fries from some fast food restaurant.”

“And she managed to eat about half of it. She didn’t feel quite as sick, and later, she was able to eat some healthier food. We had to be careful to limit how much of those fries she ate so that her sodium levels didn’t get dangerously high, but she’d have a small order every morning, and it’d help her get through the rest of the day.”

“I’ll be the first to say that many Americans drink far too many sodas. It can be damaging to a person’s health. But a cancer patient drinking a moderate amount of soda isn’t going to kill them faster, and if it helps ease their symptoms, if a reasonable amount simply makes them feel emotionally better, then, I’d argue it’s beneficial. A person’s emotional health shouldn’t be overlooked when serious illness is in play.”

Jesse’s quiet for a minute.

“What sort of sodas? She’s never been much of a soda drinker, but most sodas are pretty cheap, yo. Aunt Ginny’s allergic to eggs, though, so, it can’t be anything with that.”

They discuss this, and then, Jesse leans back. “Thanks, Mr White. Just go ahead and call whoever now.”

“I didn’t notice any cars around here. Where’s yours?”

“My aunt’s. And it’s at home so that the police can’t take it.”

His confusion must have shown on his face. Jesse rolls his eyes. “Asset whatever? If they catch you using a car to carry stolen stuff or drugs, the police will take it.”

“You really thought this out.”

Jesse has been a sour sight since the first week in his class. Jesse has a talent for mixing, a head for numbers, and a creative streak. When he wants to listen, he usually grasps things quickly.

Unfortunately, Jesse rarely bothers with homework, tries to get through tests as quickly as possible, and the hands-on experiments in class were always too boring for his taste.

He knows he’s not a particularly good teacher. Most students are either indifferent towards or uncomfortable at his enthusiasm for the subject, and he’s either too harsh or treats them with kid gloves too often.

Yet, he rarely had good teachers but still did more than most of these kids do.

He’d been determined to make something of himself, and- just because he didn’t, he wants, at least, a few of these kids to do so. Jesse, unfortunately, isn’t one he has any real hope will be one of them.

“Is this going to be another lecture about wasting my potential?”

“No.”

Jesse’s look is largely relieved.

“Small piece of advice, however: Don’t waste this particular opportunity. I need to call my wife. I’m going to the teacher’s lounge to do so. If you want a ride home, wait here. If not, you’re old enough to make your own way home. But let me make it very clear: This weekend, I’m going to be doing a thorough inventory of my classroom. If I find anything missing, I will be calling both the police and your parents. And come Monday, if any of the other teachers are missing anything, I’ll advise them to look at you as their first suspect.”

“I haven’t left your room since I got here, Mr White.”

Then, Jesse looks at him with almost comically wide eyes. “Wait. Hold up, yo. Mr White. You, uh, you mean, you’re not going to call my parents or the police?”

“No, I’m not. See if some soda or any of the other things we discussed work. If not, you can come talk to me about your aunt, Jesse. I’m not going to tell anyone, and if I can, I’ll help you.”

Jesse looks at him with probing eyes, a little hopeful, largely sceptical, somewhat confused.

“As you’ve made clear numerous times, I can be a hardass. But if I don’t have to, I’m not going to be the person who punishes a kid who came up with a non-violent, fairly well thought out way to try to help his sick aunt. It’s clear you love her, and I have a family I love more than anything. I can’t truthfully say, if I needed to do something illegal to help them, that I wouldn’t.”

Patting Jesse’s shoulder, he stands up, and he’s half-way to the door when Jesse asks, “Hey, uh, Mr White, why are you here? I mean, why did you come here tonight?”

He can’t help but groan. “Right. Good question, Jesse. Thank you for reminding me.”

Going over to his desk, he digs out the handicap placard out.

“I’m surprised you’d forget that.”

“My son’s attending a sleepover this weekend. The classmate’s parents’ picked him and the other boys up after school.” An unpleasant thought hits. “Speaking of which: If my son suffers due to this-”

“Mr White.” Strong eyes hold his. “I’m not a bad- look, I don’t pick on people. I tease my friends, not people who have, like, real medical problems, and I’ve never beaten anyone up. I know I’ve been a smart ass to you and disrespectful and all that, but you failed me, and I’ve never gone near your kid. I wouldn’t.”

I didn’t want to fail you, he thinks. I tried my best to not have to.

“I suggest you use the time I take to call Mrs White wisely, Jesse.”

…

Skyler answers on the first ring. “Hello.”

“Hi, hon.”

“Walt? Are you okay?”

“Yes. Skyler, honey, I’m fine. And I’m sorry. I should have called,” he looks at his watch, “I’m sorry. I found a kid lurking around school, and we ended up talking. It turns out, there are some family issues going on.”

“Lurking at this time of night?”

“Well, I’m not sure it’d be considered lurking if it’d happened earlier in the day.”

Her scoffing chuckle makes his heart warm.

“This kid, he isn’t bad. He’s just- sort of lost at the moment. I’m going to see about giving him a ride home, and I shouldn’t be gone for longer than thirty more minutes. Are you okay? What about our big man?”

“I’m better now that I know you’re okay,” she answers. “Junior’s fine. I know, I know, but I called the Weiss’ earlier, and he made it clear I was being an utterly lame mom. I told him you were staying late at school to catch up with some paperwork. I didn’t want to worry him unless I absolutely had to.”

“Good. Thank you. And I’m really so sorry.”

“Hey, this kid is lucky you found him instead of someone else. Drive carefully, okay?”

“I will. I’ll see you soon. Love you.”

“Love you, too, sweetheart.”

…

When he gets back to his classroom, aside from the glass being put up, there’s no evidence Jesse has moved from his spot.

“You can have the bobby pin and flashlight back, but I know your parents’ address, and I’ll be mailing the credit card back to your mother. Are you ready to go home?”

Jesse nods.

Grabbing the stuff, he puts it on the table. “Do you need help getting your shoe back on?”

“No.” Jesse stands up, and he watches in confusion as Jesse slides his foot out of the other shoe.

His confusion only grows as he watches Jesse opening and shaking the backpack, and then, moving to the side of the table, Jesse turns out his pockets.

“I haven’t taken anything, Mr White. If something is missing, it wasn’t me. I swear.”

Unable to keep his sigh in, he feels a wave of pity and sadness.

“Funnily enough, I believe you. You’re a- you’re not a bad person, Jesse. Get your shoes on. Do you want me to carry your backpack?”

“That’d be great, yo. Thanks, Mr White.”

He starts packing the stuff up, and once he’s done, Jesse’s gotten both shoes back on and his pockets tucked back in.

Seeing how Jesse is practically limping, he asks, “Would it help you to lean on me?”

The expression on Jesse’s face is one he’s had some experience with. A boy’s pride, determination, and the resentful realisation, acceptance, that willpower alone might not do the trick.

He supposes there’s some difference between how an otherwise able-bodied teenager dealing with temporary incapacitation and a little boy with moderately severe cerebral palsy think and feel, but- He and Skyler have had to learn. When to insist on helping, how to stop themselves from crossing the line from helping to infantilising coddling, when to insist Junior do something himself.

He can’t quite make out what Jesse mutters, but at Jesse’s nod, he helps Jesse lean against him to take more weight off the ankle. “Ready?”

…

Once they’re both in the car, he asks, “Now, where does your aunt live?”

Jesse tells him.

“Seatbelt.”

“Fine,” Jesse huffs out.

It clicks on, and he starts driving.

“Your, uh, son- did you and Mrs White know? That he was gonna be-”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jesse making a helpless motion with his hands.

“Yes. We did. Do you know what amniocentesis is?”

“Yeah. Uh, I mean, sort of. My mom had it when she was pregnant with my little bro, Jake. There was this scary-ass needle involved, gave me freaking nightmares, man, and then, they knew he was a boy and healthy and some other stuff.”

“Yes. Well, we did that, too. The doctors thought something might be wrong, but that was the best way to figure out if there was or wasn’t.”

He remembers all too clearly both Skyler’s and his own fear.

“When we were told, without getting into politics, for us, there wasn’t any other options. He was our baby boy, and no matter how hard, we were going to manage to do what we needed to in order to take care of him. Skyler- Mrs White, she was convinced it was somehow her fault. Everything from taking the wrong medicine to those fries I mentioned to sleeping in a bad position.”

“Bet that was fun, talking her through all that,” Jesse comments.

His instinctive anger is met with the fact there’s no malice or even flippancy in Jesse’s tone.

“Yes, well, maybe, someday, you’ll get married. Or simply have a baby with someone. There are times it’s extremely challenging, but for me, marrying Mrs White and having Walter Junior are the two greatest things I’ve ever done.”

“Doubtful, Mr White. It’d be cool if I could find an awesome girlfriend who, like, really got me, yo, but marriage? Kids? I mean, I like kids, not in a bad way, just, they’re usually more fun to be around than adults or even other kids my age, but taking care of them- Nah.”

“It’s a big responsibility, certainly.”

For all he’s right behind the Pinkmans and families of all teenage girls in desperately hoping Jesse Pinkman doesn’t get some teenage girl pregnant, there’s the fact: He believes Jesse has been taking the best care of his aunt that he can.

Maybe Jesse would have called for a ride after not finding the necessary equipment, but the possibility, if it had been there, Jesse would have walked on a sprained ankle with a heavy backpack full of stuff in an attempt to do even more for his aunt-

The Pinkman car is sitting in the driveway at the address given, and he pulls in behind it.

“I can manage from here,” Jesse says. “I was, uh, I was wrong about you. You riding me all the time, all those lectures, the talking to my parents- I know you do like some of your students, yo, but not many.”

“To be honest, I just thought you didn’t want a failing student, ‘cause, it’d look bad on you. But if someone said you’d be nice when you had every reason not to be to someone’s who made your job incredibly different- Thank you, Mr White. Really.”

“Take care of yourself, Jesse.”

“See you around. Yeah.” Flashing a smile, Jesse gets out.

Once Jesse’s inside the house, he heads to his own home.


End file.
